


The Fields of Belonging

by JeezLouiseWoman



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gun Violence, M/M, Some Humor, Some angst, Swearing, This has a happy ending I promise, and making it like ten times gayer than canon, i'm making them talk about their feelings, most of them are bi and you cannot convince me otherwise, no spoilers but the major character death(s) are probably pretty predictable, the whole gang's here! and alive!, this is a strauss free zone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeezLouiseWoman/pseuds/JeezLouiseWoman
Summary: West Elizabeth, 1903. Three years since the van der Linde gang split up, three years that Hosea & co. have been living peacefully on Beecher’s Hope. They thought they’d left Dutch, Micah, Javier, Bill, and all the trouble they used to cause in the past, but after they get word that Dutch is in custody and on his way to Blackwater for a public hanging, they realize that you can never truly run from your sins. And things get a little more complicated when their path collides with that of two bounty hunters with a deep seeded mistrust for outlaws.*Takes inspiration/elements from both “The Lone Ranger" and “Magnificent Seven.”
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption)/Original Character(s), Karen Jones/Sean MacGuire, Kieran Duffy/Javier Escuella, Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan, Mary-Beth Gaskill/Tilly Jackson, Sadie Adler/Molly O'Shea
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Hell on Wheels

**Author's Note:**

> Hello y’all! Those of you who may have read my other stories, I’m still here! Everything just got crazy and then I fell into this cowboy ravine I can’t get out of. I’m still working on my other stories, but they’ve slowed to a crawl since I began playing RDR2. This will be a slight AU to the game because they deserve a happy ending. (Note: Arthur/Mary doesn’t get a ton of spotlight like at all, so even if you don’t ship them, I don’t think it’ll be that much of a turn off, and those parts are easily skipped over)
> 
> Also, because I just plain suck at describing people, most of the physical descriptions of characters will be brief and spread out throughout the first few chapters. Plus, if you're reading this, you most likely already know what they look like, aside from Al. I'll have translations for what she says at the end of the chapter.
> 
> I actually have a playlist for this story as well, and I’ll include the song suggestions for each chapter in the notes at the beginning. It’s not necessary to the (hopeful) enjoyment of the story, but it’s there below if you’d like to listen. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Song Recommendations:  
> "Never Take Off the Mask," "Absurdity," and "The Railroad Waits for No One" by Hans Zimmer.

[Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4gMq5CWqEIrClBaZHLqFyR?si=X2uVsny1Tpepci-zD4HJ9A)

* * *

If there was a singular word Al had to use to describe how she feels at this moment, it’s probably _nervous_. Even with the bright, beautiful midday sun streaming through the windows of the train, casting a golden glow on everything it touches, a sight that she often enjoys.

She’s got more unpleasant words she can think of that are pretty spot-on, but the nervousness is overriding everything else. And it has a lot to do with the suspicious looking men sitting a few rows up and to the left of her, trying too hard to look casual. 

Every now and then, one of them—white, short black hair and beard, skinny—leans forward in his seat to whisper something to the two sitting in front of him, who are doing a much better job of looking busy. The bit older one—also white, longer dark blonde hair and what looks like two day old stubble, medium build—is scribbling in some journal while the younger man to his left—black, clean shaven, somewhere in between the other two—is reading. Or attempting to, at least. Between glances out the window and hushed conversations with the others, Al’s not sure he’s actually making any progress in that book despite flipping pages every now and then. 

They hopped on the train in Emerald Ranch several hours ago. As soon as they’d sat down, Sadie lightly elbowed her and nodded discreetly in their direction. Apparently, she had the same suspicions. Yet another reason Al’s glad to have her as a business partner.

“Can you hear them?” Sadie asks in that raspy whisper of hers, pulling Al out of her head.

She turns her head to find that Sadie still seems to be focused on her own book. Al blinks when she notices Sadie’s long bright blonde hair is no longer loose around her shoulders, instead tied into a messy braid. Apparently, she’s been so focused on the men that she didn’t even notice Sadie’s movements right next to her.

_Come on, Alma, pay better attention._

Then again, she trusts Sadie like no one else. So she blinks away the confusion and props her leg up against the bench in front of her, leaning back. Sadie’s good at splitting her attention, so Al just shakes her head in response to her question. 

“Every now and then the one in the back talks a bit too loud. Very distinct voice. Like mine.” Sadie smirks. “Asked about some fella called Charles. Focus on him.”

Sadie’s also got better hearing than Al, thanks to a bounty firing a gun too close to hear head a few years back. So Al hums in acknowledgement and does as told. Eventually, he leans forward and begins talking again. 

“Still don’t see him,” Skinny mutters. And Sadie’s right. His voice is just about worse than hers. Like he eats rocks every day or something. She might find it endearing if he weren’t acting so damn suspicious. 

“Sit back and shut up, Marston,” the blonde one growls, finally loud enough for Al to hear. 

The black kid turns more in his seat, and gives Skinny a look. “Come on, it’s Charles. You’ll see him when he wants to be seen.”

Skinny scoffs and is silent for a moment. “I still don’t like this. What if something happened to him, though? What if—”

“None of us like it,” Blonde interrupts. “Just sit back, shut up, and wait for the signal.”

The signal? Al jerks her head sharply to look at Sadie, who looks up from her book with a frown. Sadie sighs as Al grumbles, “ _Hijo de puta._ ”

“Why’re they waitin’ so long?” Sadie asks. “We’re right outside’a Blackwater.”

“Wanted to make a big show of it. This is Dutch van der Linde we’ve got chained up back there. And trains slow down the closer they get to civilization. Might be their best chance.”

“Right. Well, soon as they move, we take ‘em down.”

“Sure. But let’s try not to kill them.”

Sadie raises her eyebrows with a sly smile. “Why you gettin’ all righteous all of the sudden? These is _outlaws_. I know how you feel about them.”

“And I know how you feel about them, too,” Al counters with a brief smirk before returning to her grave expression. “These are the only ones we’d be able to take alive. If there’s more riders like I fear, they won’t give us a choice. We can use these idiots to get to the rest of the gang.”

“Okay, fine by me. I’ll take the one in the brown jacket. He looks like the leader.”

 _Yeah, Blonde does have that air about him._ Al rolls her eyes. “You just want all the glory.”

“Maybe.” Sadie shrugs and pretends to return to her book.

So that leaves the Kid and Skinny for Al, if they don’t split up some other way. She’d rather take the leader herself because if things get rough, he’ll be able to take it. She doesn’t really want to hurt the Kid, who can’t be older than eighteen, and the scars on Skinny’s face evoke immediate distrust. So the risk of seriously injuring one of them is high. But now’s not the time to argue with Sadie. 

Before she can decide on a course of action, a surprisingly loud whistle coming from outside the train startles her. 

“Goddammit. Here we go,” Blonde mutters as he quickly exits his seat and rushes for the back of the train. “John, front! Lenny, with me!” he shouts.

“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?! Get back here, you goddamn dirty van der Lindes!” Sadie yells as she vaults over the back of her seat and takes off after them. 

Which leaves Al racing after Scar Face. John, she thinks? Doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s faster than Al, but stops suddenly in the middle of the next car, looking at the roof where the sound of footsteps bleeds through. Al thinks he looks confused and mildly panicked, but she doesn’t stop to question before tackling him to the ground with a thud. 

“Hey, what the hell?” he yelps. His voice is slightly muffled, seeing as Al’s got his face pressed into the floor with one hand. Her other is quickly tossing his pistol across the floor and under the seats, where it skids to a stop at a frightened passenger’s foot.

“Shut up, and maybe I won’t shoot you,” she threatens while digging the barrel of her own pistol into his shoulder blade.

He tries to wrestle out from under her, but Al’s had plenty of experience taking down much bigger men. Arms trapped between his own body and her knees, her spurs digging into his thighs. Like riding a horse bareback. He ain’t going nowhere. “You got the wrong idea!” he pleads between grunts. “I’m tryin’ to stop them. I’m not a goddamn van der Linde, and neither are the fellas with me!”

“Sure,” she deadpans, “and I’m whiter than an albino mustang. This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.”

Though it is curious that he sounds so genuinely concerned for his partners in crime. Rumors run rampant of this particular gang of outlaws caring for each other more than normal, but something in his voice leads her to believe it’s something deeper than just gang camaraderie. 

She’ll figure that out later. Right now, she’s gotta work fast to tie him up and chase whoever it is running on the roof of the train.

“I’m serious!” he tries, voice rising higher in desperation. “They’re gonna break Dutch out if you don’t let me go, and a whole lotta people are gonna die! Please—ow!” 

She ties the rope maybe a little too tight around his wrists, but he’s starting to get on her nerves. “I know your kind. You’ll say anything to get outta trouble.”

He hesitates momentarily, and not just to let out a sharp breath as she releases him and moves to tie his feet together. “That used to be true, but not anymore. Please, ma’am, cut me loose and let me go. I’m tryin’ to do the right thing here.”

It’s Al’s turn to hesitate. She eyes him curiously as he tries to roll over. He seems earnest, but… She shakes her head and begins walking away, calling over her shoulder, “In my experience, men with scars are usually up to no good.”

* * *

Sadie does not have the time or the patience for this horseshit today.

“Ma’am,” Brown Coat says calmly, “I promise you, we ain’t the bad guys here.” 

It took two cars to catch up to them, mainly because even though Sadie’s a fairly good shot, she refused to open fire with innocent people in such a confined space. Brown Coat and Kid surrendered when the door to the next car wouldn’t immediately open. Both sets of hands are raised in the air, but Sadie knows their quickdraw means that stance is anything but harmless. “And why should I believe a word comin’ outta your mouth?” she spits.

“That’s your choice whether you want to or not, but there’s a lotta people’s lives at stake here. Right now, and on down the road. And you know that.” 

“Look, we wanna see Dutch hang just as much as you. It’s why we’re here. If we know Dutch, and we do,” the kid explains, “there’s probably at least ten guys outside right now. And no offense ma’am, but you’re no match for them by yourself.”

 _Of course_ they’d underestimate her. All men do. “Says you,” she snorts.

“That whistle you heard?” Brown Coat asks. “That was our friend warnin’ us that they’re here. The longer you hold us here instead of helping us, the worse his chances of livin’ are. And I kinda like him.” 

While Sadie may not consider herself good with people anymore, something about these men says that she can trust them. On this, anyway. But she doesn’t lower her guns just yet.

“Hey, look, you can arrest us later, and we’ll prove we ain’t with those fools,” the kid tries.

Brown Coat gives the kid a look that suggests he’s not fond of this idea.

“But right now, we gotta stop them. If we meant you any harm, we woulda shot you already, right?”

 _Horseshit, all of it,_ she thinks. Just a ruse to get her to lower her guard. After all, she’s the one with two guns, and while one of them may get a shot off, she knows that _they know_ one of them will likely wind up dead before all’s said and done. And if she knows anything about outlaws, they’d much rather live than die.

And yet…

“Why’d you send a man up front?” 

Brown Coat answers, “Likely someone’s goin’ after the engineer. Sent my associate up to stop him. Pretty standard in train robbin’.”

 _Damn_ , she hates that that makes sense. Sadie visibly hesitates. Seeming to sense this, Kid speaks up again.

“Please ma’am. Like I said, you can arrest us after, but right now, we got a jailbreak to stop.”

“I do like the idea of arrestin’ you two,” she muses as she takes a small step forward. 

“If you still want to,” Brown Coat sighs heavily, “then we’ll go nicely.” Obviously, he still doesn’t like the idea, but sounds compliant enough.

She’s confident in her own abilities—some say a bit too much—and she’s eager to get to the prisoner car. So, despite her better judgement, and full well knowing she’ll get an earful from Al about this later should they all survive, she decides to trust them.

“Fine. But, either of you try anything…” she threatens, taking another step forward and pressing the barrels of her guns into their chests, “I won’t lose any sleep over shootin’ both y’all’s heads clean off.”

Brown Coat lets the briefest of smiles grace his face before lowering his hands. “Yes ma’am.” 

“I’m Lenny, and this is Arthur, by the way—” the kid starts.

“I don’t care,” she cuts him off. Brown Coat barks out a laugh, then moves forward when Sadie holsters one gun while motioning forward with the other one. “We got work to do, go on.”

* * *

_Well, shit._

Unfortunately for Al, as soon as she climbs up onto the top of the car, losing her favorite hat in the process, the man Scar Face had been chasing—or following, whichever—turns around. He’s got a real sour face, the kind Al _really_ enjoys punching. But he’s way out of punching range, and already looks ready to kill her before Al’s even fully stood up.

“Who the fuck are you?” he hollers out over the wind.

Sadie might say something more clever in this situation. Try and convince him that she’s on his side. Then get in close and take him out. Al, however, just shouts, “Nobody.”

She sees the move he’s going to make before he makes it; after all, it’s the same one she’s going to make. But she’s still far too late. Before either of them can draw their guns, half of his head is blown clean off, and his body falls limply to the roof. She jerks her head to around, trying to find the source of the shot. What she finds is a man riding an Appaloosa to the left of the train, sawed off shotgun being lowered slowly. He’s maybe a shade lighter than the kid Sadie ran after, long black hair tied in a loose ponytail and a thick five o’clock shadow. She doesn’t get a much better look at him than that, however. 

“Go! Get up to the engine before it’s too late!” he shouts before slowing down and disappearing.

 _That must be the fella they were talking about before._ And he just saved her life. Al’s frown deepens and her gut twists. Could Scar Face be telling the truth? If he is, well, she’s sure as hell not apologizing. But she may be more inclined to let him go. After all, if he’s not with the van der Linde’s, then he’s of no use to her.

Least she didn’t kill him.

She huffs and continues forward, leaping from car to car, only stopping to kick the corpse off the roof, until she reaches the edge of the first passenger car, gun drawn. She stops when she hears a voice call out, “What the hell took you so long, Joe? So goddamn—”

He pokes his head above the coal cart and freezes. Recognition is instant for both of them.

“Bill Williamson, you dumb bastard,” she grits out. “Shoulda known you’d be here.”

Big, dumb, loud, bad-tempered Bill Williamson. One of Dutch’s right hand men, right next to Micah Bell and Javier Escuella, and she’s willing to bet her beloved horse that both of them are here, too. Last time she saw Bill was two years ago as he was robbing a bank in Valentine. Left a lot of dead bodies in his wake. He’s been near the top of her list ever since.

“Alma Tejada. You’re too late again!” he roars. He disappears from view briefly, only to reappear with his gun drawn.

He’s as predictable as he is dumb, so by the time he starts firing, Alma’s already taken cover behind the cart. 

“Surprised you know my name, _comemierda_.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he laughs, and her stomach turns at the sound. “It’s only cause you brought Colm O’Driscoll in. He'd been a thorn in our side for a long time, so I’m gonna give you one chance to leave. Call it professional courtesy.”

“Oh, Bill,” she laughs darkly, “you ain’t professional or courteous. Even if you were, no deal. The only way you’re leaving here is as a corpse.”

Honestly, she coulda said that better. Her point gets across though, as she hears a growl of, “Suit yourself,” before several bullets dent the metal in the passenger car behind her, some _pinging_ off as it hits particularly thick siding. She doesn’t dare move from her spot until she’s sure he starts reloading. But when she hauls herself up onto the pile of coal and peeks over, she discovers that he’s climbing out of the engine and jumping onto his horse. She takes aim, but he slows that big brown Ardennes of his just fast enough to dodge her shots, laughing maniacally. 

“ _Coño_!” she swears. She just hopes that that man on the horse who saved her earlier can take him out. Shaking it off, she turns her attention to the engine. Why was Bill there so long? He coulda easily taken out the engineer and fled before Al ever caught up. 

When she reaches the engine, she has her answer, and it isn’t good.

Besides the dead body of the engineer, she finds that Bill’s broken off the hand brake, essentially making the train a high speed death trap.

“ _Coño_!” she yells again, slamming her palm into the wall. She has no idea how or even if there’s a way to stop the train now, so the only thing she can do is disconnect the passenger cars. That’s not an easy job she can do quickly and hope to return to Sadie and the other guards. 

She needs help. Which leaves either one of the passengers or Scar Face. And the chances of one of the already terrified passengers being able to keep their cool is slim.

“So,” Al sighs, “Scar Face it is.” 

This is turning into a terrible day.

* * *

A faraway loud, long train whistle cuts sharply through Hosea’s wandering thoughts. Those whistles from trains near stations are common, warning people to get off the tracks and allowing current and future passengers to prepare to exit and board, respectively. Hosea’s heard plenty of them in his long life.

He’s also heard plenty of warning whistles. And that one was most definitely a warning whistle.

His heart sinks, then falls even further when he meets eyes with Abigail. She knows that sound, too, all too well. And she’s got more to lose on that train than almost anyone else. Her, and Mary, who he sees off in the distance looking just as unhappy.

“Hosea,” Abigail frets as she hurries closer to him. With her dark hair in its usual bun, her concern is on full display. 

“It’s as we feared,” he sighs, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, get these people away from the tracks. I’m gonna go find the sheriff.”

Abigail nods, resolve replacing fear, and rushes off. He learned long ago that the best way to keep her from worrying herself ragged is giving her something to do. And these innocent people likely have no idea how much danger they could be in.

Not two seconds into his search for Sheriff Dunbar, and Hosea hears his name being called out across the crowd. Even without the Irish accent or the familiarity of years spent in his (unfortunate) company, Hosea would recognize Sean by volume alone. 

“Hosea! What the fuck’s goin’ on?”

He knows that while it may not look like it from an outsider’s perspective, Arthur and Sean are close. It means a lot to Arthur that Sean is part of the gang, but a small part of Hosea wishes Sean had become a drifter instead. Like Josiah. Or that he’d at least change a little. Rarely in life to things like _this_ go his way. 

No use crying over spilled milk now, anyhow.

“Probably nothing good. Get these people outta here and get the horses ready.” he replies, waiting until Sean’s close enough that he doesn’t have to yell.

He weaves and bobs through the crowded platform, not bothering with the usual polite apologies, until, finally, he reaches Sheriff Dunbar. He looks calm enough, but Hosea knows better. “Sheriff! Sheriff, can I have a word?” he calls, stamping down any panic that tries to creep into his voice.

He quickly wipes away the coffee residue from his long, thick mustache before greeting, “Mr. Matthews. What seems to be the problem?”

“I think we both know what’s happening.”

Dunbar regards him for a moment, then nods. “I believe we do.”

“I have men on that train, and more than likely, that horn was their warning that Dutch is makin’ some sort of escape. We need to get these people away from the station. And we need to get my men some backup.”

Dunbar nods again, and a look Hosea doesn’t like forms on his face. “I’ve got men on that train, too, Mr. Matthews. Only they ain’t men, and they’re the real distrustful sort.”

Well, Hosea certainly doesn’t like the _sound_ of _that_ either. “Sheriff—”

“Oh, I trust you. But you shoulda told me about that before puttin’ those boys on that train. Let’s just hope they can convince my ladies they’re one of the good guys, too.”

Well, if Arthur’s there, they stand a better chance of living, at least. “Yes,” he sighs, “let’s hope.”

“You got other men here?” he asks suddenly, motioning for Hosea to follow as he starts off towards the hitching posts.

“A few.”

“Good. Make sure they’re ready for whatever happens next, and have them assist my deputies.”

 _Sean won’t like that one bit_ , he thinks, suppressing a smile. “Already on it.” When Dunbar nods at him for a final time, he takes off towards the last place he saw Josiah. Time to put the gang to work.

“Come Hell or high water, Dutch van der Linde is hanging today.” 


	2. The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Song Suggestions:  
> “For God and For Country” by Hans Zimmer  
> “The Shootist” by Bill Elm & Woody Jackson  
> “Horseplay” by Bill Elm & Woody Jackson  
> “Outlaws from the West” by Woody Jackson   
> “Gringos a Caballo” by Francesco di Masi

He  _ knew _ stopping to negotiate with this woman was a bad idea.

_ Goddamn fool _ , Arthur chastises himself.

All six guards are dead by the time Arthur, Lenny, and the woman manage to open the door to the prisoner car. Even if Micah hadn’t been in the car helping Dutch out of the side door where presumably there’s a horse waiting for him, Arthur would’ve been able to tell it was his doing by the sheer carnage alone. Micah is good at what he does, unfortunately, but he’s not as clean as Javier or as unintentionally messy as Bill. His methods are vindictive and cruel.

He’s fast, too, also unfortunately, and the only reason Arthur and Lenny don’t immediately die the second they lock eyes with him is because they have enough sense to know what’s coming. That, and that sneer rears its ugly head from under Micah’s thick handlebar mustache. 

Thankfully, the woman’s got good sense, too, as they all three dive back into cover around the doorframe. She manages a couple of futile shots while growling in frustration. Lenny tries to sneak a peek, but a shot way too close to his face ends that play real quick. He sinks back into cover, disgruntled.

Arthur dares not try, too struck by the look Dutch was giving him. Which was somehow worse than the one he was wearing the day the gang officially split. Anger, confusion, disappointment, and hurt. A father, betrayed by his own child.

But it’s as Hosea said:  _ He betrayed us. _

“Micah, wait!” The firing stops briefly, then Dutch calls out in a voice to match that desperate expression, “Arthur, my boy. Tell Micah here that you’re only here to help.”

Arthur has spent a long time moving on, telling himself and others that the old Dutch is dead and gone, and that they did everything he could to save him. That  _ this _ Dutch won in the end. And that this Dutch ain’t worth saving. But the true desperation in his voice makes Arthur’s heart squeeze as several painful memories rush to the surface. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to see Dutch hang, if he’s being honest with himself. But he knows he needs to, especially after all he’s done since they last saw each other three years ago. However, that doesn’t help get his body moving.

It’s hard to erase twenty years of memories and feelings, after all.

Thankfully, Lenny seizes the opportunity to answer, motioning at Arthur and the woman to stay still. “Sorry, Dutch, but we ain’t part of the rescue squad.”

Arthur chances a peek and finds Dutch looks heartbroken all over again.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” Dutch says, just barely audible over the rush of wind.

The sudden anger in his voice gives Arthur his own back. “You done too much, Dutch. All those things you taught us not to do, you went and did ‘em! What the hell happened to, ‘We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed 'em as need feeding,’ huh? You ain’t done nothing but kill innocent folks for no goddamn reason! You’ve become the very thing you claimed to hate.”

“And you became a coward!” he roars back. 

“No, Dutch!” Lenny retaliates. “We grew up. Made good men and women of ourselves. We’re livin’ the life you always claimed you wanted for us.  _ You’re  _ the coward now, runnin’ away from what you done.”

“I done what I done to survive, Lenny! Not become some puppet for the rich man to throw away when he runs outta uses for ya.”

Arthur’s blood is positively boiling now. “What, like you did with John? Just abandoning him like that?”

“And don’t try to say you thought he was dead! I saw it all!” Lenny adds just as furiously.

“Enough!” Micah intervenes. “I’ll take care of ‘em, Dutch. You need to go.” Micah turns back to them, laying on the fake concern real thick. “You’re breakin’ Dutch’s heart all over again, Morgan.”

“He broke mine first. Hosea’s, too. You broke  _ all  _ our hearts, Dutch, the moment you started listenin’ to this bastard over the rest of us. We all got bad in us, but you let it consume you.”

When Arthur looks back at the woman, he sees a curious expression on her face. Which means she might actually believe him now. And probably won’t arrest him. That solves precisely one problem, and he has too many to count right now.

“At least Micah’s been loyal,” Dutch says solemnly before leaping out of the train.

“There’s more to life than loyalty, Dutch!” Arthur tries, but Dutch is long gone by the time he finishes his sentence.

“God dammit,” the woman snarls, “he’s gettin’ away!” 

She moves to stand up, but Arthur jerks her back by her arm. An act she does  _ not _ appreciate. But Arthur shakes his head and sticks his gun out instead. It’s met with warning shots that would have no doubt been buried in the woman’s shoulder, best case scenario. She doesn’t verbally thank him when he looks back at her, but her expression says enough.

“Dutch may be a big dreamer, but I’m a realist. I knew you wasn’t here to help us out,” Micah drawls. “We saw Charles. Didn’t look too happy to see us.”

“What’d you do—” Arthur grinds out, angrier than a hornet’s nest that’s just been pissed on. 

“He’s alive,” Micah quickly reassures in that voice that’s meant to and does a good job of irritating him, “for now. Consider this the last favor we ever do for you.  _ Stay out of our way. _ ” And with that, Micah leaps out of the car and onto his horse, quickly disappearing from view. 

They are not getting away scot-free if Arthur has any say in the matter. He races forward and leans out of the car, gun raised. The world seems to slow as he focuses intently, and a yellow tint begins creeping up from his periphery. He exhales slowly, firing off a few rounds while the riders are still in view. While he is a great shot, moving targets are always much harder to hit, even with what he and John have dubbed their Dead Eye. He misses his main targets, Micah and Dutch. One intended to kill, one just to injure.  _ But either will do at this point. _ He’s able to make out Javier’s shape, and his black and white Paint, Boaz, but refuses to take aim at him. He lets a small curse of his soft spot for the man fall from his lips. It’s liable to get him in trouble one day. Hopefully it’s a day  _ far _ in the future and not today.

Luckily, he’s able to hit another rider, who jerks and falls off his horse violently. Briefly, he gleefully thinks it might be Cleet, but the thought, along with his body, is yanked back into the car by Lenny. His concentration is lost, and as always, his eyes sting for a moment.

“Somethin’ don’t feel right, Arthur,” Lenny admits, eyes wide. 

Arthur’s brow furrows as the woman answers, “I think we’re goin’ too fast.”

Which can only mean one thing, and Arthur really does not like it.

“John,” he and Lenny utter at the same time, voices full of fear.

“You two better hope to whatever god is out there that he and my partner ain’t dead. Or you two will be,” the woman threatens. And by god, does she mean business.

“God’d be more merciful than you or Abigail, I reckon,” Arthur says grimly. 

* * *

“I cannot believe I’m saying this,  _ calaca,  _ but I’m cuttin’ you free,” is not what John expects to hear when the Spanish woman returns, miraculously alive. He also doesn’t expect her to actually cut him free. Though it doesn’t come without a pistol being pressed into his shoulder again and a warning of, “I  _ will _ kill you this time if I find out you’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he promises. “What happened?”

“Your friend saved me, I think,” she mutters while standing up to let him do the same. “And Bill Williamson was there, at the engine.” As he fully stands up, rubbing his sore wrists, she asks, “Do you really care about your friends’ lives? About these passengers?”

John keeps his eyes trained on her, as she does him. “Yes ma’am. I do. More than I think you care to understand.” 

He must convey enough of his sincerity, because, while her face remains hard, she nods and motions for him to follow. “Williamson destroyed the handbrake. Everyone will die if we don’t disconnect the engine.”

“Shit,” John sighs. “Let’s go, then.” As they start towards the front of the train, he asks, “Was that you blowin’ the whistle or Bill?”

“Me,” she throws over her shoulder. “I don’t think he wanted to warn the whole county something was wrong.” 

“Good. My friends at the station should get the message and get those people out of there.”

She groans as she climbs up onto the coal cart. “More of you? Fantastic.  _ Justo lo que necesitaba _ .”

John sighs again, a little tired of this already.  _ Maybe this is what Kieran felt like _ . At that realization, he bites his tongue and reconsiders lashing out. “I understand why you’re distrustful of us, ma’am, but I promise you, we mean you no harm. We just… wanna put a stop to Dutch and his gang. They’ve caused enough trouble.”

“More than I think you care to understand.” Usually when his words are thrown back at him, it’s accompanied by a smirk or a laugh. She only gives him another hard look, brown eyes dancing with an anger he’s all too familiar with. “Here. Disconnect this.” She points at the coupler from her position at the ledge of the cart. “I’ll keep watch. I have a feeling we’re not alone.”

John stares for a moment at the coupler. It’s much larger than any of the others on the train because it’s connected directly to the engine. He frowns, but then hops down and does as told. “Okay, but why’d you pick the cart with the most complicated connector? You could do it one-handed on any of the others.”

“The tracks stop close to the Blackwater station. Minimal damage if it’s just the engine that crashes there.” 

John looks up at her and feels dumb for even asking after she raises her eyebrows at him. “Right. Good idea.”

“Hurry up, cowboy. I can see the river, and we’re going way too fast.”

As he finishes yanking the final pin out, watching as the gap between cars slowly increases, he calls up, “It’s John. And I’m done.”

The woman jerks her head back to look at him, and John thinks there might be amusement on her face. A little, anyway. “Okay,  _ John _ . Let’s go back. Sadie and your friends might need our hel—”

The crack of gunfire cuts her off. She seems just about as on edge as he feels, heart sinking. Hopefully he’s not too late. 

* * *

“Into the river, here,” Javier calls out just before splashing into the chilly water. 

“Where are we going?” Dutch asks, coming up beside him.

Boaz, loyal horse as he is, fusses at having to tromp through the river, so Javier urges him forward with a stern, “ _ Allante _ !” 

When Dutch doesn’t get an immediate response, he becomes visibly annoyed. “Javier!”

With anyone else, Javier would have no problem putting them in their place. But it’s Dutch. So Javier tries to placate him instead. “Sorry, Dutch, we’re heading upriver a little ways, then into New Austin. We’ve got a camp set up at Twin Rocks.”

“That’s Del Lobo territory.”

Javier smirks. “It was. We pushed ‘em back easily enough while we were waiting on word of your transport.” 

“Well, good job. And it’s good to see you boys again.”

“Likewise, boss,” Micah agrees as he, too, falls in step alongside Javier. “And we should be safe for quite a while. Morgan and the others will be too busy with the train, so we’ll be long gone by the time they can catch up. If they do, that is.”

Javier frowns at him. “What does that mean? What’d you do?”

“Sent Joe and Bill to take care of the engineer. Though, judging by Joe’s absence, he didn’t make it. Shame.” 

Micah only sounds a little sorry. Javier could care less about Joe truthfully, but a little more remorse on Micah’s part wouldn’t hurt camp morale.

“Charles shot my damn hat off!” Bill bellows from the back of the group.

Javier turns to look at Bill. True to his word, Bill’s big forehead is shining brightly in the midday sun—the parts that aren’t covered in blood, anyway. Probably from being grazed by a bullet. Once again, Bill is very stupidly lucky. Emphasis on  _ stupid _ .

“At least he didn’t blow your head off, so quit complainin’, you idiot.”

“Aw, shut the hell up, Micah!”

“Enough!” Javier commands. They both get on his last nerve, but at the moment, Micah and his plan is his most pressing concern. “So you’re willing to sacrifice a whole train? We were just supposed to focus on Dutch. The law is one thing, but all those innocent people? Women and children?”

Micah makes a big show of rolling his eyes and snorting disdainfully. “See, this is why we didn’t tell you about that part of the plan. It was the best way of gettin’ those fools off our backs so we could escape. Minimal casualties.”

“Minimal casualties?” Javier repeats, flabbergasted. “We lost Joe, we lost Cleet, we nearly lost Bill—”

“And we’re all real sad, fancypants, nobody more than me, since I brought them into this gang, but it happens. You know that.”

“Don’t give me that horse shit,  _ cabrón _ !” Javier jabs a furious finger at Micah. “You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself!”

Dutch decides he’s had enough infighting. “Knock it off, you three! What’s done is done. Using the passengers as a distraction was a good idea, no matter who was or wasn’t there. Now quit your arguing and get me home.”

Javier still doesn’t like it. It still  _ feels _ wrong. He tries not to think about it too much, but truthfully, most of the jobs they were pulling before Dutch was captured felt wrong in one way or another. But because they were Dutch’s ideas, and Javier trusts Dutch, is loyal to Dutch, he kept his mouth shut and followed along. And he will now, again. 

As they continue splashing upriver, he tries to convince himself that, yes, it was a smart move. Especially if Dutch openly agrees. After all, if Arthur, Lenny, and Charles were there, plus according to Bill, one of the bounty hunters that brought in Colm O’Driscoll, the passengers should be fine. 

If not… well, he’ll handle Micah later himself. 

* * *

“Goddammit!”

“Holy shit!”

“Arthur, wait!” John shrieks.

“ _ ¡Sólo soy yo! _ ” 

“Alma,  _ Christ _ ,” Sadie huffs as she reholsters her gun. “Can’t just go dropping down in front of me like that. Can’t be happy you’re alive if I accidentally shoot ya.”

Al smirks even though it isn’t actually funny. Because there was a locked car between them and the passenger cars, she and Scar Face had to climb up and over to get to their destination. Neither of them saw Sadie and the other two until she had already dropped down onto the platform. For the second time in less than an hour, she stood up to be met with a gun to her face. Although Sadie was at the opposite end of one of the guns this time, there was still an unfamiliar face holding the other. Not her idea of fun.

“I’m happy you’re alive, too,  _ loca _ ,” Al says, reaching out to affectionately squeeze Sadie’s arm. Sadie smiles back at her, and Al motions at the other men. “I take it we’re all on the same page, yes?  _ ¿En talla? _ ”

“I think so,” Brown Coat says. Al doesn’t really know what to make of the look Sadie and Brown Coat give each other, but he immediately turns his attention to the man behind her. “Good to see you’re still alive, Marston.”

Sadie and the other two men begin backing up to allow Al and John to enter the empty car. “Good to see you, too, Morgan. Lenny,” John answers, patting the kid on the shoulder with a smile that’s overflowing with relief. 

“So, what happened?” Al asks. She quickly scans Sadie for any wounds. When she finds none, her shoulders relax.

“Bastard got away. Had plenty of backup, too. Only reason I ain’t bleedin’ or dead is cause these two was able to distract van der Linde and Micah Bell.”

“Fuck.” Al reaches up to fiddle with her hat, then frowns when she remembers it’s not there. Her hand moves further back to tug on her low ponytail. “I was really hoping he wouldn’t be the one to show up.”

“What about you?” Sadie raises her eyebrows, and there’s an unspoken question of  _ how did he get you to trust him? _

So Al gives her the short version.

“Well, we got our work cut out for us, then.” Sadie turns to the men, who have been talking in hushed tones. “Y’all bring your horses with you?”

“Yeah, of course,” answers the kid.

“Good,” Al says brushing past them. “We should ride into town and deliver the news.”

“They’ll probably be gettin’ a wagon ready to get these passengers, but it’s best if we ride ahead and give ‘em the bad news,” Sadie adds. She ushers them to the back of the train where they’ll collect their horses.

“No doubt they’ll be seein’ that engine pretty soon,” John chuckles humorlessly, “but that’s probably not a bad idea. Besides, the sooner I see Abigail, the less trouble we’ll all be in.”

Al and Sadie regard him curiously for a moment, then share a look. The same question is on both of their minds, but they also come to the same conclusion that they’re not interested enough to ask.

It’s no surprise the horses are spooked, although the train has come to a complete stop on the other side of the river by the time they reach the car. Even Bob, Sadie’s big golden mustang, and Moonbay, Al’s own dapple black thoroughbred, take a moment to calm down. She reckons it’s due to the fact that the other horses aren’t used to this kind of clamour on train rides, and fear travels fast within packs. Once calm enough, they begin leading the horses out the back of the car, one at a time, Al and Sadie first. 

Once she mounts Moonbay, Al watches the others carefully as they emerge. And it strikes her as odd how beautiful and expensive-looking their mounts are. John leads out a big black horse with a white mane and tail. Next comes the kid with his palomino mustang, considerably smaller than Bob and with a coat she’s only seen only a handful of times in her life. Lastly, Arthur leads out a dark red Andalusian. 

Al and Sadie share a look, then turn when a slightly familiar voice calls out.

“Hey, everyone all right?”

Al nods at… well she doesn’t want to call him her  _ savior _ , but the proper English word isn’t coming to her. The thought disappears when he nods back at her and Sadie.

“Yeah,” Brown Coat answers. “You okay?”

“I’m alive,” the man affirms. His voice is deeper than the others’, and right away Al can tell he’s much more reserved in nature. He pats his horse’s neck, which is lathered in sweat. “We goin’ after them?”

Brown Coat looks tentatively at Sadie and Al. As if he’s asking for permission. 

“We will,” Sadie affirms. “But first we gotta get these folks back to town.”

“Good. I’ll need to borrow another horse.” He leans forward in his saddle and pats his horse’s neck again, this time in an apology. “Taima’s strong, but keeping up with the train’s not easy.”

“Well, come on, let’s get back then,” Sadie announces as she begins trotting away. The others follow close behind, Al taking up the rear to watch for any funny business. They may have agreed to work together, but that doesn’t mean she trusts them. 

* * *

It’s several minutes before anyone speaks up, and somewhat to Charles’ surprise, it’s not Lenny.

“So you weren’t able to catch any of ‘em?” John asks. 

“No,” Charles answers, “too worried about you all. And no way I could keep up with them right now. We’ll track them later.”

“Well, they’re at least one man down. Think I shot Cleet,” Arthur adds, somewhat triumphantly.

“If you mean the skinny one with the rat face, then yeah, that was his body. Unfortunately, Bill got away. Just missed his head. But the bigger fella with the rat face, Joe, I think, is dead. Blew  _ his _ head off for sure.” Charles glances at the dark haired woman out of the corner of his eye, but it’s so brief that she’s the only who catches it.

“Good,” John scoffs. “He always was one ugly son of a bitch, inside and out.” 

“Won’t argue with that one,” Lenny laughs. 

“I won’t either,” the woman calls from behind, “but you sound like you know them. Personally.”

It’s a thinly veiled demand for information if Charles has ever heard one. But before any of his friends can answer, the blonde woman does.

“Oh, they do. But from what I gather, things ain’t too friendly between ‘em now.” She turns enough in her saddle to fully look at the other woman. “These fellas is all right for now.” 

The other woman seems to accept this, but she still turns a skeptical eye to John. “You, said you don’t do this—” she gestures vaguely—“anymore. Who are you really,  _ John _ ?”

He sighs heavily and looks back and forth between the two women. “My name’s John Marston. Folks around these parts call me Jim Milton, though.”

Arthur guffaws, “No, they don’t.”

“Will you shut up?”

“You’re the only one of us dumb enough to keep usin’ your real name.” 

“Go to hell, Arthur.”

“Spending time with you  _ is _ hell, Marston.”

Charles is getting no help from Lenny, who seems to find this whole situation  _ too _ amusing, so he decides to intervene. As usual, he has to be the mature one. “Cut it out you two. Not the time.” He nods and turns back to the women apologetically. “They’ve been doing that for nearly twenty years. From what I hear, it hasn’t gotten any better over the years.” Small smiles tug at the corner of both women’s mouths. Charles points to each of his friends as he speaks. “I suppose you deserve our real names. Arthur Morgan. Lenny Summers. Charles Smith,” he finishes by gesturing at himself. 

“Sadie,” the blonde one says simply as she holds a hand over her chest, then waves at her companion, “Alma.”

“Most folks just call me Al,” she offers with a nod.

“Now  _ that _ , I believe,” Arthur mumbles just loud enough for John to hear.

“Shut the hell  _ up, _ Morgan,” John growls.

They’re entirely too old to be acting like that in Charles’ opinion. So he stops them with a hushed but stern, “Hey.”

“What, no last names?” Lenny asks. 

“Not yet,” Sadie replies with a playful smirk. 

“Y’all gotta earn it,  _ los yumas _ ,” Al adds. 

Charles isn’t sure what that means, but her tone suggests it isn’t as mean as it’s supposed to sound. 

“Nothin’s easy with you ladies, is it?” Arthur asks.

“We wouldn’t be very good bounty hunters if it was, now would we?” Sadie replies.

“Fair enough,” Arthur chuckles.

Well, at the very least, he can say these are the most likeable bounty hunters he’s ever met. Not that he plans on meeting more in his life, but the point stands. Working with them might not be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a work of fiction, but... I just combined Sadie's two horses cause, technically, the Turkoman's are an extinct breed and the next closest is a rare breed from Eastern Europe, the Akhal-Teke (which are some of the prettiest horses in the world). She has a mustang in the Epilogue, so I just made it gold. I did the same with Hosea's horse, as you'll see in Chapter 3. And we have no idea what breed Boadicea is, so I just gave him a breed that nobody else in the gang had. 
> 
> I'm using a combo of articles with specific Cuban phrases and Google Translate, so sorry in advance for anything that translates a bit off.
> 
> calaca = "skeleton"; refers to someone who is very skinny  
> justo lo que necesitaba = "Just what I need."  
> Allante = "ahead"; I've heard Javier yell this at his horse when going faster, but I'm not sure if that's the exact word he says. The subtitles never pop up for those kinds of commands/dialogue.  
> cabrón = "asshole", "bastard"  
> sólo soy yo = "it's just me"  
> en talla? = "it fits"; when there's an understanding between people  
> los yumas = "foreigners", particularly ones from North America. I may change this phrase later


	3. True History of The van der Linde Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Song Suggestions:  
> “Doctor’s Opinion” by Colin Stetson  
> “There She Is…” by Mario Batkovic  
> “Born Unto Trouble” by Bill Elm & Woody Jackson  
> “Silver” by Hans Zimmer  
> “Ride” by Hans Zimmer  
> “Homeland” by Hans Zimmer

The explosion is loud, drawing out people from every nook and cranny in Blackwater like flies to a rotting carcass. Which would be horrifyingly accurate had Hosea and the others not cleared the area by the time the runaway lone engine came roaring through and past the station. 

“What the  _ fuck _ , man?” Sean exclaims to the left of Hosea. 

“Guess that’s what they were tryin’ to warn us about,” he answers simply. “Least the rest of the train wasn’t attached.”

“That woulda been quite the show.” Sean lets out one of his signature giggles. It’s cut short when Hosea fixes him with a stern glare. He doesn’t apologize verbally, but Hosea wasn’t expecting him to. Besides, the ‘child caught with his hand in the cookie jar’ look is satisfying enough. “Nobody got hurt.”

“That’s the most important part. I think Arthur and the others should be arriving shortly.”

“And if they don’t show up soon?” 

As Sean turns to face him fully, Hosea sees that he’s truly worried, but refuses to openly show anything other than his usual bravado. Understandable in this situation, so he holds his tongue. “Then we go find them. I’m sure they’re fine, though. Otherwise we’d be looking at the whole train and not just the engine.”

“Aye.”

Hosea makes his way to the end of the platform and begins watching for any sign of movement in the distance. There’s not much beyond the city bedsides fields of dried, yellow grass before the rocky outcrop of the river. The bridge is off to the right, but the main foot crossing is further to the left. It’s not clear which direction they’d come from, but reason says they’d rather use solid ground, so he focuses mainly on the left. He’s not watching for more than a few minutes before Abigail appears wordlessly at his side. They share a brief look and a nod before returning their anxious gazes to the horizon. 

“I think that’s them!” Abigail hollers with reserved excitement and relief a few moments later.

Hosea’s eyesight is not like it used to be, and he doesn’t have any binoculars on him, but he eventually makes out the figures on horseback coming in the distance. “I think you’re right, Abigail,” he then agrees, squinting as if that will make the figures any clearer. Once the horses do become recognizable, he affirms, “I see Bodicea and Maggie, so yes, that would be our boys.”

“And that would be my ladies,” Sheriff Dunbar says as he saunters up to them. “Guess your boys was convincing enough.”

He frowns, but before asking for clarification, two additional figures come into view on horses he’s never seen, followed closely by Old Boy and Taima. Everyone’s alive, so he sighs in relief instead. Tension leaves his body, finally, and his shoulders relax. “Blessedly so. Though I don’t see any extra cargo with them, which can’t be good news.”

“No, it can’t.”

“I’ll go find Mary and the others,” Abigail says, putting a hand lightly on Hosea’s shoulder. She’s darted off before Hosea can respond.

They stand in silence until the group gets close enough, when Hosea hears Arthur shout his name. He raises a hand in acknowledgement, and the other three respond with varying waves as their horses pick up speed. Lenny the most enthusiastic, Charles the most reserved, John somewhere in between. 

“I see you sent the most capable of your bunch,” Dunbar remarks with some amusement. “Guess that’s why they’re still alive.”

“Hey—” Sean starts. Clearly he understood that was a dig aimed directly at him. Maybe he’s not quite as dumb as Hosea thought.

“Sure,” Hosea agrees, cutting him off. “If we’d sent anyone else, the undertaker would have had a helluva lot of work on his hands.”

“Bastards, both of ya,” Sean pouts.

“ _ Hey _ , show the Sheriff some respect, Sean. Or I might just let him throw you in jail for a week.”

Sean opens his mouth indignantly, as if he’s going to say something needlessly arrogant. But thankfully, the group’s come close enough now that Dunbar speaks and everyone shifts their attention away from Sean.

“Nice to see you made it out alive.”

“Not for lack of trying on their part,” the first woman says as she dismounts her Thoroughbred, who’s almost as pretty as her rider. Loose black curls pulled into a low ponytail, pale brown skin, full lips pulled into a half grimace. “Guess they’ll just have to try harder next time.” Her accent is barely there, buried under a lifetime of assimilation; either she was born here or moved here at a very young age. Hosea won’t try and guess where she’s from or how old either of them are. Out loud, at least. That’ll just get him in trouble. Though they do look close in age. Maybe not much younger than Arthur. 

“Next time, they ain’t gonna get much of a chance to try. There ain’t gonna be no small talk.” The other woman’s voice is rough. Grew up in the mountains, probably. Certainly not a city girl at the very least. This one is fairer skinned, freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. She’s also half a head shorter than the other one, but that’s where the differences seem to end. Both seem rough, strong, confident, and yes, very pretty. Hosea quickly kicks Sean before he can voice whatever thoughts are brewing behind his blue eyes.

“What?” he asks quietly. A poor attempt at innocence.

“Don’t,” is all Hosea says before turning back to the group.

“Small talk, eh?” Dunbar asks. “What happened?” 

“Obviously he got away,” the first woman says. “They split us up, used the engine as a distraction, got off just before we crossed the river. Fuckers.”

“Passengers are fine,” the second one adds. “Scared as shit, but fine. They’re gonna need some rides back into town.”

“Good. Mr. Matthews and his friends have been helping arrange some transportation already.” It’s then that Dunbar seems to realize that some introductions are in order. “Gentlemen, Sadie Adler and Alma Tejada.”

“I go by Al most of the time,” Alma says quickly.

“Hosea Matthews,” Hosea starts cordially, sticking out his hand. Then something in the back of his brain tingles. Why does he know— “Hey! You’re the two who brought in Colm O’Driscoll.”

Sadie nods. “That we did.” Pride and disgust fill her voice. 

_ Wonder why that is. _

“Well, shit,” Arthur half laughs. Recognition shows on his face, followed immediately by awe. “I thought y’all sounded familiar.”

“No wonder she got the upper hand on you,” Charles teases, just loud enough for Hosea to hear. John shoots him a glare with a quiet  _ hmph _ . 

Which means there’ll be one more thing to hang over John’s head. Not that Hosea needs more ammo, but it doesn’t hurt. 

“Didn’t take long to earn those last names,” Lenny says with an infectious smile.

Dunbar raises an eyebrow as Al snorts, “Smartass,” with a smirk.

Sean takes a small step forward and tips his hat. “Sean Macguire.” Sadie and Al frown at Sean’s machismo. 

“His bark’s way worse’n his bite,” Arthur says as he steps forward and pushes Sean’s hat further down on his head as the Irishman squawks in protest. “Come on Charles, let’s get you a fresh horse.”

Sean’s, “Fuck you, Englishman,” is ignored.

“You headin’ back out?” Dunbar asks.

“The trail’s fresh, and if we don’t go after them now, we may never find them again,” Charles explains. He walks past Dunbar and hands Taima’s reins to Trelawny, who has somehow managed to sneak up on them. “She’s worn out. Take her back to the ranch when you can, please..”

“Absolutely, dear boy,” Josiah agrees with a nod. “Glad to see you boys are alive.”

“For now,” Arthur says ominously as he walks towards the stables. 

Hosea hears Mary’s voice calling to Arthur somewhere behind him, but his attention is drawn to Abigail as she brushes past him and flings herself at John. He smiles fondly, then smothers a snicker with a cough when he notices Al’s wide eyes and crinkled nose. As if that was the last thing she was expecting. More evidence that she must not have had a good first meeting with John.

Sadie, on the other hand, has no reaction. Instead, she turns back to Dunbar. “Well, seein’ as y’all got things squared away here and don’t need us, soon as those other two come back, we’re headin’ out. Got anyone you can spare?”

The Sheriff frowns, shoulders slumping to punctuate his disappointment. “Not many. We been short the last week, which is why I called on you two in the first place.”

So  _ that’s  _ why he asked two bounty hunters for help in escorting Dutch, when their job usually ends after handing targets over to the law. He wonders why Dunbar didn’t come to Beecher’s Hope to ask for help, but then again, he was present when Abigail insisted that “the days of being outlaws and hired guns are over.” Makes sense he wouldn’t want to piss her off.

_ Didn’t seem to matter in the end. _

“I got too many deputies out chasin’ those damn Del Lobos near the state line,” he continues. “And all the extra hands I needed were on that train. I assume they’re all dead.”

“‘Fraid so, sir,” Lenny answers. “Micah Bell made a pretty good mess of things.”

Dunbar hums in acknowledgement. “Mr. Matthews?” 

“Well, I don’t see the point in me stayin’ here. Josiah,” Hosea nods at Trelawny, “you, Molly, Karen, Abigail, and Mary can drive the wagons to go pick up the poor passengers. And if you see Swanson, I’m sure you can get him to help. He enjoys saving lost souls. Sean—”

“Ain’t no way I’m stayin’ behind!” he predictably objects. “Let’s go get the bastards!”

“Come on,” he says tiredly. “John?”

John straightens up with a nod, one arm still around Abigail. “I’m comin’, too.”

If Hosea knows Abigail, she’s none too happy about it. But she says nothing, knowing the argument would be futile at this point. She lifts her eyes to meet Hosea’s, who nods. 

_ We’ll get him back to you, no matter what. _

She nods back.  _ I know. That’s the problem. _

A conversation that  _ will _ be had another day.

With a sigh, Dunbar warns, “I can’t spare anyone else with a badge. Pinkertons have been sniffin’ around here the last couple months, off and on, and some of y’all’ve made names for yourselves in the past.” He turns to Sadie and Al. “Bounty hunters ain’t got jurisdiction over Pinkertons. So they ain’t likely to take your word on anything.” They both nod in understanding, then he looks back at Hosea. “So you go do this right now, you’ll be on your own. I can’t protect you.” 

“We’ve got each other,” Hosea assures with a small smile, looking around at the group, “and that’s all we’ve ever needed. We’ll be all right.”

“Good luck out there, Hosea.”

* * *

Charles and Arthur arrive with a new horse not long after Dunbar leaves them, and the group heads out. 

As they near the river, Arthur asks, “You know Javier?” looking at Alma and Sadie.

Hosea immediately knows how she’s going to take it, but does nothing to help Arthur. Sometimes it’s best to let him make certain mistakes on his own. And sometimes it’s fun to watch him get into and then out of trouble. 

“I’m Cuban, not Mexican,” Al corrects. “There’s a difference, jackass. What, you think everyone that speaks Spanish knows each other?”

Arthur fumbles, “No I didn’t—look, I just meant, since you two is bounty hunters, maybe you’d crossed paths or somethin’ before.”

Sadie snorts good naturedly and answers for Al, “No, we mostly been out west. Bouncin’ between California and this area. Haven’t strayed too far east, so Mr. Escuella and the others has stayed off our radar. ‘Til now, anyway.”

“I did run into Bill Williamson before,” Al adds with a sneer. “That bank robbery out in Valentine few years back. Bastard somehow got away.”

Arthur lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, he’s real fond’a those bank jobs.”

“We noticed.” Sadie half-snorts. “Most of you lot are.” 

“Hey,” John interrupts, “we don’t do that no more.”

“But you used to. Goin’ around killin’ innocent folk who didn’t deserve it on your quest for freedom, or the need to feel like a man, or whatever the hell y’all call it. It don’t justify what you did, no matter how you try ‘n spin it.”

“I won’t deny that, but we tried not to hurt people who didn’t ask for it.”

“We only ever robbed banks, stagecoaches, rich people,” Lenny says. “Not ranchers or people just tryin’ to get by. Only those with more than enough wealth to spread around. We weren’t barbarians, or O’Driscoll’s.”

Sadie sneers, but says nothing. 

“We roughed ‘em up a bit if they wouldn’t cough up the goods, but we didn’t shoot nobody that didn’t shoot first,” Sean adds.

Not for the first time, Hosea fights off his urge to shoot Sean right in the crotch. He hopes that little bastard  _ never _ reproduces. All he can settle for now though, in present company, is a look that hopefully conveys how  _ unhelpful _ he’s being, along with a growl of, “ _ Sean _ .”

“That’s right below killin’ them, you know that?” Sadie accuses. “The people you rob and  _ don’t _ kill have to watch you kill someone else in front of them. Sometimes, people they love. So just because  _ they _ live, don’t mean they get out unscathed. Money’s one thing, but your sanity’s another. You can’t pleasantly rob people.”

“We know,” Charles says somberly. “That’s why we stopped. Tired of hurtin’ people.”

“Among other reasons, apparently.”

Hosea sighs. “I guess we owe you two an explanation.”

“That would be nice,” Al says.

“The short version, please,” Sadie adds.

A short, somewhat humorless chuckle, then, “I’ll try. We were all a bunch of misfits—still are, really. Most of us found by Dutch at our lowest point in life. Some younger’n others and in a real bad way, like in John and Arthur’s case. Some just lost and alone in a world that didn’t care about them. Then Dutch, seein’ something in each of us, gave us a home, a sense of purpose, maybe. I can’t speak for everyone, but it was like a family. A very dysfunctional one, but a family.”

“Dutch had a good eye for people, really,” Lenny says. “We all got along real well and things was going pretty good until Micah came along.”

“Well, he only exacerbated the problem. Looking back, well… Things had been slowly unraveling for quite some time.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says somberly, “I was too blinded by love and loyalty to see it, most of us were. But Hosea’s right. Things was gettin’ bad before the Kansas City job, but he—” 

“I fear we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Hosea gently interrupts. “See, I believe that all Dutch truly wanted was to be the leader of something big. Not politics or anything like that, none of us were too keen on civilization.”

“Still ain’t.”

Hosea jerks a hand around dismissively. “Regardless, he wanted a following. It started out small, just him, me, and Arthur, then Susan, Bill, and John. We gained a few people here and there over the course of the next twenty years, but it wasn’t until about four years ago that people started falling in left and right. If I remember correctly, I think there was a six month span where we picked up eight new members. Charles and Lenny were two of ‘em. Micah, too, which I think accelerated what was gonna happen eventually.”

“It’s a fuckin’ wonder that we even allowed that oily turd to stay at all,” Sean growls. “Always stirrin’ up shit in camp all the time. And  _ not _ in the fun, cheeky way.”

“And that’s the thing.” Hosea points at Sean. “ _ Dutch _ liked him, guess because he stroked his ego better’n the rest of us did, so we all kept our mouths shut about it for the most part. And if you questioned him about his decisions… See, after Dutch brought someone in, rescued them, he’d find some way to suggest that  _ loyalty _ should be as important to them as it is to him. He’s a master manipulator, cause we only ever saw it as a way to pay back a life debt. And he always convinced us that we was just a bunch of Robin Hood’s; stealin’ from the rich, helpin’ people out when we could, all while tryin’ to stay wild and free in a land slowly succumbing to civilization. So questioning his decisions meant you were doubting him, and  _ doubt  _ was a very dirty word.” 

“Apparently,” Al snorts quietly, “so is  _ civilization _ .”

Charles chuckles quietly, but Arthur and John roll their eyes in almost perfect synchronization. 

“Well,  _ civilization  _ ain’t been all that nice to us, so…” Lenny says with a shrug. His lips tug up at one corner, though.

“Anyway, we’d been runnin’ jobs for a while that just didn’t feel right to any of us,” Hosea continues, “and kept getting us in trouble with the law. More than usual, I mean. About three years ago, it all came to a head. We’d been camped out right outside Kansas City and Micah’d gotten into Dutch’s ear about a river boat. Carryin’ some sort of massive payday.”

“Which it was,” John clarifies.

“Wasn’t worth what it cost us, though. Three of our members dead, an innocent woman, dead. Sean, captured. Pinkertons on our tail. It was the worst mess I’ve seen.”

“And we didn’t even get the money,” Sean mutters.

“That was all’a you?” Sadie asks, turning in her saddle to look at Hosea incredulously. “We knew it was Dutch and Micah. They never released the other names, though.” With a scoff, she turns forward again. “Y’all are worse than we thought.”

“ _ Were  _ worse,” Lenny corrects. “We don’t do that anymore.”

“So you keep saying,” Al sighs. 

“Not all of us is bad. Dutch was the one who shot the woman, ain’t none of us wanted that.”

“Not all of us were there,” Charles says quickly, “and not all of us killed innocent folk, but it doesn’t matter. None of us did much to stop Dutch, so we’re all at fault. That blood’s on all our hands.”

Hosea subtly raises an eyebrow when Al glances at Charles curiously. Impressed, too, he thinks. “Things got from bad to worse,” he then continues. “We fled north, into the mountains, licking our wounds. Ran into our rival gang up there, then spent the next two months moving from state to state. Dutch kept pullin’ us into situations we didn’t need to be in. Got tangled up with the Army at one point, who were locked in a fight with the local Indian tribe. We were doin’ things we never should have been doing, gettin’ into trouble we’d spent decades tryin’ to stay out of, tryin’ to teach others to stay out of. He kept disregarding the safety of everyone, and finally, we decided we’d had enough. Enough of… everything. Especially after…” Hosea looks sadly at John.

John picks up the hint. “Dutch and Hosea raised me. Taught me everything I knew. Even taught me how to read. Arthur, too. But we were pullin’  _ one last job _ : a train carrying Army payroll. Things was goin’ okay until I got shot and fell off the train.”

“Dutch was on horseback,” Lenny explains. “Said he would go back and get him. None of us really trusted him at that point, so I followed him. Only he didn’t know it.”

“He just… He just stood there, lookin’ at me. He’d been accusin’ me of plottin’ to betray him for weeks. I guess in that moment, he just decided… I wasn’t actually dead yet, but I guess I already was to him. So he left me there to die.”

“I saw the whole thing. Waited til Dutch had left, then got John and took him back to camp.”

“He told all of us John was already dead, that there was nothin’ he could do,” Arthur scoffs. 

Al is clearly biting her tongue. Though, to her credit, she does at least look genuinely sympathetic towards John. Sadie more so.

“So imagine our surprise when we get back to camp, and there’s John and Lenny. And Hosea and Susan, shotguns in hand.”

“Honestly,” Hosea says seriously, “if there hadn’t been all that history between us stopping me, I don’t think either of us would have survived that day. The gang as we knew it didn’t, though. Those of us not blinded by loyalty to a man who clearly and truly didn’t care for us farther than he could throw us fled west, while he agreed to stay east.”

Charles grunts. “We had to fight for just half the money from that train job, too. Not literally, but the only reason that didn’t come to blows was because there were far more of us than there were of them.” Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Charles perks up and slows. Leaning over to get a better look at the ground, he informs, “Hey, found the tracks.” 

Charles is the best tracker out of them, but there’s so many of the hoof marks together that he doesn’t have to do all the hard work. It’s always been much easier to track groups of people anyway, and this one is no exception.

“Looks like they head west, back towards the river, maybe?” Al ventures.

“They might try to throw us off by goin’ into the river.” Sadie sighs, then rubs her face. “Hope they ain’t that smart.”

“Hope is a dangerous thing to have when Dutch van der Linde is involved,” Hosea replies grimly. 

“Perhaps.”

They continue following the trail with Charles and Arthur leading the way, leaning off the sides of their horses every now and then to squint at the ground. 

“How’d you end up in Dunbar’s favor?”

Al’s question draws Hosea’s attention away from the horizon, where he’s been watching for any suspicious movement, just in case this is a trap. “Well, there for a while, we were running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off. We did know we didn’t want to rob anymore. We had a good amount of money, after all. But robbin’ was all most of us had known, so it took us a while to figure out exactly what we wanted to do with our lives. Dutch and I had always talked about buying some land for all of us in the virgin West and living quietly the rest of our days, so eventually we decided we should try and make good on that plan. The goin’ was slow, though, since we had a few women and a couple old timers—me included. Arthur and I had prices on our heads, so we had to be careful of where we set up camp. Having Jack with us also seemed to work in our favor, since outlaws tend not to travel with small children.” 

Al and Sadie both look surprised at the mention of Jack. Which only punctuates his previous statement. He smirks to himself, though Sean catches it and huffs a small laugh.

“We were just north of the river, back a few miles that way—” he waves behind them— “when we run into a big skirmish goin’ on. Lots of yelling, laughter, and gunfire. Arthur, Charles, Lenny, and I go check it out. Some Del Lobos were tormenting the local law, and Sheriff Dunbar was one of them. We should have just moved on cause it wasn’t our problem, but it’s a good thing we stopped to help. Didn’t take long to clear them off, then we take ‘em back to the wagons, patch ‘em up a bit. Tell ‘em we’re lookin’ for some land, then Dunbar tells us about Beecher’s Hope just west of Blackwater. Turns out to be the perfect place. Now, three years later, here we are.”

“ _ You _ bought  _ Beecher’s Hope _ ?” Al half-laughs. “That place was nothing but a dump the last time I saw it. Just rocks and dirt. Dead grass.”

“Well, it’s a fully-functioning ranch now,” John boasts. 

She shrugs. “It has been a few years since I’ve been this way. You plan on competing with the MacFarlane’s? You’d be stupid to try,  _ calaca _ .”

“ _ No _ —We’re not lookin’ to compete. Just wanna make a steady livin’ for ourselves.”

Hosea chuckles because he thinks she just called him a “skeleton,” as Arthur interjects, “We don’t need any attention on us, so we ain’t lookin to make a big business outta it.”

“ _ We _ ?” Sean parrots. “You don’t even live wit’ us!”

“Neither do you!” Lenny laughs. “So what’chu mean  _ us _ ?”

“I do, too!” Sean adds quieter, “Sometimes.”

“You mean when Karen gets sick of you.”

“Enough,” Hosea chides. Just in time, too, since they’ve reached the river.

“Just as we feared,” Charles calls back. Obviously unhappy. “Can’t tell if they go right up towards Strawberry or stay in the main river.”

“Shit,” Sadie groans. “Y’all ran with them. Where do you think they’d go?”

“‘Fraid we don’t know ‘em that well anymore,” Arthur sighs.

Hosea studies the hoof prints for a moment, then begins thinking out loud. “I don’t think they’ve changed  _ that _ much. Micah’s always been a troublemaker, but unpredictable. I don’t think he knows this country that well though. He wouldn’t call the shots on this at least. Bill’s dumb as a brick and a brute, so he’ll just do as told. Javier’s…capable. The most capable of them, for sure. He’s charming, but not a good actor, so we kept him out of the major cons that Trelawny or me usually ran. Smart, but too loyal for his own good. Blinded by it, much like we used to be. Joe and Cleet are dead, so…” He sits up straighter and looks around, mind made up. “Javier knows the land the best out of all of them. He’ll probably know some good hiding spots for them this side of the country. They go much more north than here, they’ll be at a disadvantage. And they can’t go east, or they’ll be back at Blackwater. I’m gonna guess they stayed in the main part of the river, headed west. No telling how long they stayed in it, though.”

“Well, with our luck,” John sighs as they move forward and follow the river, “it’ll be miles.” 

* * *

The ride back to Blackwater is quiet, frustration filling the twilight air. Sadie can sense that the others wanted to end things today, one way or another, just as much as she and Al did. Hours of searching, all for nothing. Seems Hosea was right about hope.

“Judging by the looks on your faces and lack of prisoners or bodies,” the curly-haired blonde woman greets once the posse is within earshot, “I’m guessing you couldn’t find ‘em.”

Arthur is the first to reply. “No. They rode upriver for so long that we lost the trail.”

“Not even Charles could pick it up,” John adds with a grumble as he dismounts.

Doesn’t take a genius to see Dunbar’s disappointed, and at least mildly surprised. “Well, ain’t much more we can do about it tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Do they know you’re short-handed?” Hosea asks.

Dunbar quirks an eyebrow. “You didn’t even know we were, and you live ‘bout three miles outside town.”

“Fair enough,” Hosea laughs. 

John glances around. “Where’s everyone else?”

The way he says it makes Sadie think he means more than just the other woman—Abigail, most likely—and the Josiah feller they saw earlier. Or that kid they mentioned.  _ Exactly how many more of them are there? _

“They went home,” the blonde answers. She begins picking at her nails, but not after giving Sean a playful smile as he sidles up to her. “We didn’t know how long y’all was gonna be, so Abigail and Molly went back to the ranch. Mary went home, too, Arthur.”

“Yeah, okay.” John looks at Arthur curiously. “You comin’ back with us?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go home to Mary, spend the evenin’ just with her.”

Hosea nods. “Not a bad idea. She was pretty worried.”

“Yeah. That’s…” Arthur looks around, momentarily distracted. “Where’s Josiah?” 

The blonde lifts her head and raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Right, wandered off again to God knows where. Stupid question. Anyway, I’ll see y’all later. Ladies—” Arthur looks at Sadie and Al and tips his hat. “Thank you for your help. And sorry again for the misunderstanding.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid again, and I won’t have a reason to point a gun at ya.”

Arthur chuckles, “Can’t make no promises, Miss Adler. Good luck out there,” and trots off.

Sadie doesn’t feel like correcting him at the moment. 

“Ladies,” Dunbar sighs, turning towards them, “I know under usual circumstances, you wouldn’t get paid, seein’ as the bounty got away. But these are  _ unusual  _ circumstances, so I’ll get you your payment at the office. Then you can wash your hands of this whole business. Or—”

“ _ ¡Un segundo! _ ” Al interrupts with an outstretched hand. “We’re not  _ washing our hands _ of this yet. They’re still out there, and I don’t plan on leaving until I see all of them dead. Whether that’s by the rope or by a gun, doesn’t matter.”

When Dunbar looks at her next, Sadie shrugs. “You heard the lady. There’s a hotel, food, entertainment, and we got money, so…” she trails off and tugs at the necktie that’s somehow, again, shifted into a weird position.  _ How does that keep happening? _

Apparently, the others haven’t left yet, because Hosea asks for clarification. “So you’re staying in town?”

“As long as it takes,” Al responds in that tone that leaves no room for argument. Sadie smirks.

“Then,” John says, continuing only when he has everyone’s attention, “how ‘bout you stay with us? We got plenty of room on our ranch.”

“You’re serious?” Sadie asks, incredulous. A very strange offer. She takes a cautious glance at Dunbar, who nods that  _ yes, you can trust them _ . And while some apprehension is still there, and likely will be for some time because true trust isn’t something she gives out lightly, she relaxes.

“It’s the least I can do. Free room and board, privacy, no noisy next door neighbors. Well, wall-to-wall, anyway. Can’t promise the chickens won’t sit at your window and kick up a racket.”

“If they do, it’s most likely Edgar,” Charles chuckles. “He’s the noisiest one.”

“Yeah, but don’t let that turn you away,” Lenny quickly adds. “It’s a nice place.”

One final look at each other, and Al shrugs in acceptance as Sadie says, “All right then. Won’t say no to free.”

“Keep your money, Sheriff,” Al says. “You can pay us when the job’s officially over.”

“All right, then,” he replies with a hat tip. “Be seein’ you around, then. I’ll let y’all know if and when we hear anything.”

“Follow us when you’re ready,” Hosea instructs. “It’s not a long ride, so if you need to gather your belongings, we’ll wait.”

“All we need is already on our horses.” To punctuate her statement, Al firmly pats the back of her saddle.

“We travel light,” Sadie says simply. 

“Okay then,” John announces, then kicks his horse into a trot alongside Hosea’s dark silver mount. Looks like a Standardbred, but Al’s always been better than Sadie at telling horses apart. “Let’s go. I’m  _ starvin’ _ .”

* * *

It doesn’t take them long to get to Beecher’s Hope. Sadie hasn’t spent much time in West Elizabeth at all since she began her career, so she bases her overall judgement off Al’s expectations. And so far,  _ impressed _ seems to be her consensus as they pass under the arch and get their first look at the property. 

The ranch is hidden from the east, the direction they’re coming from, behind the rolling hills, one of which looks to be cut in half. Atop it stands a large, full tree mere feet from the cliff edge, where below a large corral acts as the connector to the barn. An additional pen is attached to one side of the barn, while an awning juts off the other side. A few feet away, on the same side as the awning, is a chicken coop, overshadowed by a silo to the left and further back. Past the barn and corral looks to be a field of crops. That’s too far away for now, so Sadie focuses her attention back on the main section of the ranch. All the structures on the property seem to have been built with the same light-colored wood, including the main house and… she counts seven small cabins in the distance. Hard to tell if there’s more with the waning daylight.

Sadie just hopes she isn’t bunking with anyone besides Al.

She’s sure she’ll get her answer soon, but she wonders which one of them lives in the main house. The cabins look nice, sure, but the house is obviously the most desirable, what with the spacious wrap-around porch and likely larger bedrooms. One glance at Al tells her she’s thinking the same thing. 

As they near the main house, they’re greeted by someone doing a  [ half jog, half hop ](https://bubblesprout.tumblr.com/post/186469040993/kieran-and-his-run) . “You made it back in one piece!”

“Just about,” Hosea replies, dismounting. “I’ll take Silver Dollar here and get him settled in myself tonight.” He pats the horse’s neck and begins walking him towards the barn. 

“Me, too,” Charles says as he leads his horse. Sadie will ask Al later if she knows that one’s breed. She can’t put a finger on it, and she’s never seen a black and white one with patterns like that before. She wonders if he’d be willing to sell, that way she’s got a horse this side of the Montana River she can use instead of hauling Bob everywhere. 

“Heard it’s been quite a day…” the other man muses sympathetically while fidgeting with his hands. He looks—and sounds, honestly—like the epitome of the term “nervous wreck.”

“We’ll tell you all about it over dinner,” John sighs. 

“Who’re our guests?” he asks curiously as he scratches his beard. 

“We was hired to do the same job y’all was, apparently,” Sadie answers. She grunts as she slides to the ground, then, “Good thing we ran into each other, I guess.”

John throws an arm at each of them as he announces their names, then in the direction of the cabins. “Sadie, Al, this here’s Kieran. They’ll be stayin’ here until… Well until this whole thing’s over, I guess. Or until they wanna leave. ”

“I-I’ll take your horses, then,” Kieran says, holding a hand out for the reins, which Sadie hands over with minimal reluctance. “What’s his name?”

“Oh, uh, Bob,” Sadie answers. 

He then looks at Al as she tentatively hands over her reins after grabbing her gear off the saddle. “She’s Moonbay.”

“Bob and Moonbay. Got it. John?” Kieran holds out a hand questioningly.

“Thanks, Kieran,” John says sincerely, throwing a leg casually over his horse’s neck and dismounting. Kieran seems slightly taken aback. By the sincerity, Sadie guesses. “Can you give Old Boy some extra carrots for me? He ain’t ever been a fan of train rides.”

At first, she thinks “old boy” is something akin to calling Hosea “old man.” But when she hears Kieran call him that again, not in a mocking tone, she looks at John with a playful scowl. “ _ Old Boy _ ? That’s a terrible name.”

John waves her off, as if this is old hat for them. Which strikes her as odd. Everyone’s so cavalier about everything. Inviting two strangers, two bounty hunters, back to their ranch after informing said bounty hunters that they used to be a part of the very gang they’re hunting down? Definitely not a move she nor Al would have made. She wonders about their sanity.

“Bob’s not much more creative,” he shoots back.

“Fair enough. Least it’s a  _ name _ .”

Sadie watches as Lenny hands his reins off to Kieran, who then skillfully leads four horses to the barn. She can hear him muttering to the horses in one of those baby voices.

“Nice to meet you, Bob, Moonbay. You’ll be right at home here, I promise. Heard you had a rough day, huh Maggie? Not to worry, Lenny wouldn’t let anything real bad happen to ya. Oh, and you, too, Old Boy.”

Admittedly, Sadie does talk to Bob like a child sometimes, but only when she's alone. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, turning forward again and catching Al’s gaze in the process. Al apparently caught it, too, since she’s now struggling to remain straight-faced. 

“You don’t have to eat with us tonight if it makes you uncomfortable,” John tries, “but you’re welcome to. If you’d rather keep to yourselves, we understand. There’s always some spare canned goods in the last cabin on the right, which is where y’all can stay.”

Lenny laughs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “We never know when Sean’s gonna stop by, so we try to keep it stocked.”

Al thanks him with a small smile, then turns to Sadie in question. It’s a wordless exchange, as per usual, then Al answers, “The offer is nice, but I think we’ll retire for the night.”

_ Too many people, and we don’t really know them. _

“Sure. Breakfast is usually ready ‘bout eight.” John takes a step backwards towards the house, then quickly adds, “If you want it. Y’all are welcome to any of the eggs in the chicken coop if you’d rather eat by yourselves. Up to you.”

They thank John and Lenny again, then make their way to their temporary lodgings. Sadie takes one last look around, trying not to let old memories resurface, then closes the cabin door behind her.

_ Home, for now it seems. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, just switched the Turkoman to another breed found in the game.
> 
> un segundo = hold on a moment

**Author's Note:**

> hijo de puta = son of a bitch  
> comemierda = motherfucker, shit eater, etc. very versatile swear  
> coño = fuck


End file.
